So as their mothers lay dead on the floor, their fathers dead in other places, the two of them kissed like it was a honeymoon, fucked like it was their first time, came like it was the big bang that created the universe.
He took her against the wall, on the floor, from in front and behind. He poured his load deep into her vagina, then twenty minutes later into the far depths of her anus. He held her bleeding throat as she clawed his ravaged back. They were embracing themselves as much as they were embracing each other in that moment, claiming themselves as much as they were claiming each other in their orgasms. It was the only way out, the only way to make sense of it, the only way forward.
And so when they heard the commotion outside the room, the guards shouting in Arabic and then the unmistakable sounds of American voices ordering them to put their guns down, the two children lay naked against each other like Adam and Eve before the Fall, innocent and free, free from guilt, free from shame.
“You must be John Benson,” the Sheikh said when the door swung open and a white-haired man stood there. “Tell me, Mister Benson. Was this how you hoped things would end when you made your deal with the devil?”
36
“I made the only deal I could at the time,” Benson said, looking at Maddy and then the Sheikh. “And sure, over the years I considered taking them out. But I left them alive because I knew that someday the two of you would want answers, answers that had to be experienced first-hand. So I let them live. I kept eyes on them over the years, knowing that the old Sheikh would one day reach out for a last taste of the power he'd enjoyed. And then I did what I do best: Set up the situation and let it play out. It was the right thing to do.” He took a breath and smiled. “It was also the smart thing to do, because now I have two allies running the Kingdom of Wahaad, instead of a Sheikh with no memory of his past.”
The three of them were on a private plane from Paris to the United States, with Benson sitting across from them. He’d cleaned up the mess in Paris—which was easy, since the old Sheikh and his queens had officially been dead for twenty years anyway.
“Why were you even involved with our parents to begin with?” Maddy asked firmly, feeling Imraan’s grip on her hand tighten as she spoke. “Is it true you were trying to recruit my mother?”
Benson narrowed his gaze at her and then slowly turned away, glancing out the window as the clouds slowly moved past. “I’m always recruiting,” he said quietly. “Once you two get settled, I’ll be in touch. Count on it.”
Once we get settled, Maddy thought with a smile as she looked up at Imraan and then past him towards those same lazy clouds. Will any of this ever settle? Will we ever leave behind the legacy of our parents, the design of our genes?
Perhaps that isn’t our destiny, came the thought as she considered what Benson had said with that enigmatic smile. Perhaps there is a strange dance between genetics and destiny, free will and fate. Maybe we get to choose which parts of our parents we carry with us and which parts we leave behind. Perhaps that is the next test we’re going to face. Perhaps it’s a test that we’ll be facing every day for the rest of our lives.
But you know what, she thought as the Sheikh looked down at her like he could understand what she was thinking, like he was the only one who could understand: there’s no one I’d rather face that test with than you. My man. My every man: father and husband, brother and lover, friend and family. Always and forever.
Always and forever.
∞
EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
Maddy touched her pregnant belly and looked up at the Sheikh. “What if . . .” she said quietly, even though she didn’t believe it for a moment.
The Sheikh grunted. “We can always run DNA tests. Or we can just ask Benson.”
Maddy sighed. “Do you think it’s troubling that we didn’t ask Benson anything about them?”
“Do you think he would have answered?”
Maddy shrugged. “That’s not the point. We didn’t even ask. We didn’t ask if what we know about who our real parents are is true, if any of what happened is true.”
The Sheikh reached around her ample waist and pulled her close. They were in that same outdoor verandah, watching that desert spring bubble up from the earth as the sun set over the golden dunes of the Wahaadi desert.
“We did not ask, because we do not care. We have chosen to ignore genetics. We have chosen to write our own destiny. We have chosen to be free of the past.”
“But can we? What if our unborn child is a deformed monster?”
The Sheikh shrugged, gesturing towards that pool formed by the desert spring. “Then we will drown the bastard and try again, my love,” he said with a completely straight face.
Maddy screamed in mock horror, punching the Sheikh on the chest so hard he roared in pain. “You sick asshole! How can you even—”
“Or perhaps I will just drown you for hitting me so hard, you twisted creature,” the Sheikh grunted, rubbing his chest where there would almost certainly be a bruise in a few hours. “That will end it, yes? Just the way you wanted.”
Maddy laughed as she involuntarily ran her finger along the thin scar she’d made when she almost cut her own throat. She understood why they hadn’t asked Benson any questions, why they hadn’t run any DNA tests. Yes, part of it was because she did trust in what her body was telling her, what his body was telling him. But part of it was also because of what that sliver of doubt was doing to her, to them both, to their relationship. How that tiny bit of “what if” added a hint of darkness to their lives . . . lives that were now full of light and hope.
Because they were born of darkness, and although they had chosen the light, decided to write their own future together, they understood that it was the darkness that made the light seem so bright.
And so they would carry that last bit of it with them in the form of that “what if,” letting it create that subversive energy, the energy of opposites.
That same energy that gives the earth its spin . . .
The same energy that gives love its luster . . .
The same energy that makes the twists of a story as much fun as its ending . . .
∞
THE FORBIDDEN SCENES
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Love,
Anna.
BY ANNABELLE WINTERS
THE CURVES FOR SHEIKHS SERIES (USA)
Curves for the Sheikh
Flames for the Sheikh
Hostage for the Sheikh
Single for the Sheikh
Stockings for the Sheikh
Untouched for the Sheikh
Surrogate for the Sheikh
Stars for the Sheikh
Shelter for the Sheikh
Shared for the Sheikh
Assassin for the Sheikh
Privilege for the Sheikh
Ransomed for the Sheikh
THE CURVES FOR SHEIKHS SERIES (UK)
Curves for the Sheikh (UK)
Flames for the Sheikh (UK)
Hostage for the Sheikh (UK)
Single for the Sheikh (UK)
Stockings for the Sheikh (UK)
Untouched for the Sheikh (UK)
Surrogate for the Sheikh (UK)
Stars for the Sheikh (UK)
Shelter for the Sheikh (UK)
Shared for the Sheikh (UK)
Assassin for the Sheikh (UK)
Privilege for the Sheikh (UK)
Ransomed for the Sheikh (UK)
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Ransomed for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 13) Page 14